Damaged
by HedgieX
Summary: Wes has grown up a lot since he last saw Uncle Harry. An intelligent and compassionate boy, just like his father, but not a happy one. Harry is now married to Ruth; they have stories to tell, and plenty of love to share, but can Wes ever be repaired?
1. Chapter 1

**I was mourning Spooks looking through my 'best TV in the world' folder, and I happened across this fanfiction – I wrote it sometime last year, and never got round to finishing or posting.**

** I always liked Wes, and never thought there was enough of the effect his parents' career had on him; the scene where Harry goes to the rugby match breaks my heart. Most episodes of Spooks do though, so don't get me started...**

Wes Carter raised his head at the knock on his dormitory door, and momentarily considered answering. He returned quickly to his study book; surely, whoever it was, they wanted one of the other boys, and they were all out somewhere or other. If he kept his head down, the caller would go away. They always did.

The wood was rapped on again, though, louder this time, and more persistent. Sighing, Wes lifted the file from his knees and slid from the bed, crossing the room in a couple of steps, and dragging the door open.

"Good evening, Wes," his kindly housemistress, Mrs Scott, stood before him, a somewhat anxious expression set on her face.

"They're not here, miss." he informed her neutrally, his hand still lingering on the handle as if indicating he wanted to close it.

"Actually, Wes, it's you I'm here to see. You have a visitor."

Wes visibly shrank back from the doorway. A visitor? Who exactly would want to see him? He couldn't remember the last time he'd been summoned to the family room. Probably because he didn't have any family. "I think you've got the wrong person, miss. No one ever visits me."

A shadow of doubt crossed her face, but was quickly replaced with pity, "Well, he seemed pretty certain. Why don't you come along and find out?"

He gave a deep inward sigh, but nodded reluctantly, and followed her from the room and along the corridor. As they reached the door, Mrs Scott turned and gave him an encouraging smile, then ushered him inside and disappeared.

Wes froze for a beat, gazing around the room at the colourful sketches plastered to the walls, and the abandoned teddy-bears littered across the floor. His eyes finally locked onto the only other person's, growing wide, "Uncle Harry?"

"Wes," he replied softly. He found himself thrown off balance as the boy ran towards him and wrapped his arms around his waist, clinging on for dear life. Harry sank down onto the chair behind him slowly, holding Wes in his arms, and feeling tears well up behind his eyelids.

Wes Carter wasn't a child any more; he was now nearly fourteen years of age, tall and strong, if a little scrawny. He'd grown up so much since their last meeting. From what Harry could gather, he was now intelligent, gracious, insightful... A wonderful young man. But not a happy one.

"Sorry," Wes eventually found his voice, flushing as he pulled away from Harry's grip. His eyes were damp, too, Harry noted, and his lip trembled slightly, but his tone was composed, "I just..."

"Yes. Me too."

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, signalling to the chair beside him and taking Wes's hand as he sank down. Harry didn't really 'do' children, as a rule. He had Catherine and Graham, of course, but...well, he'd always felt he failed them. With Wes, it was different. There'd always been a bond; how couldn't there have been? "I should've come earlier."

"I guess it was hard for you too."

"Yes." Oh, he was so much like his father sometimes. "Do you remember your father, Wes?"

Wes nodded slowly, as if uncertain, "Some things - like flashes of memories. Playing Frisbee in the park, or reading in bed. And when he told me mum was dead. I was fishing by the lake with my grandparents. I don't really remember her; mum."

"Do you have a picture?"

Wes fumbled around in the pocket of his trousers and dragged out a crumbled scrap of paper, printed with a faded image of his parents. His fingers stroked his mother's face as he stared down into the depths of the scene.

Harry smiled sorrowfully. Clearly the boy had never moved on from the traumatic experiences in his childhood. He slid a paper file from his jacket and produced a handful of pictures.

Wes took them hastily, engrossed as he shuffled through the pages. His eyes searched their faces hungrily, desperately searching. He hadn't seen his parents for so many years now. He hated to admit it even to himself, but he could barely recollect their voices now, or their smells. He closed his eyes now, and his mum's sweet perfume floated back into his nostrils, filling him with hope. "I...I...can I keep this one?"

Harry leant across, peering at the image Wes indicated. Fiona sat on the left, and Adam on the right, their fingers interlocked in a clear indication of love. An infantile Wes was nestled between them, his hair tussled and his eyes sleepy, but a content smile stretched across his lips. They appeared a perfect family. A _normal_ family. Wasn't that all any of them had ever wanted?

"You can keep them all, Wes."

"Thank you. Thank you so much," Wes clutched the photos to his chest now, eyeing Harry with a new compassion.

Harry didn't reply. This poor, poor child. Born into a family of spies; born into fear, mystery, deception... Shaken by his mother's death, witnessing his relatives' demise before being hurried off to a boarding school on the other side of the country. Discovering his father was dead, and being left to cope all alone. How had he ever stood a chance?

"Am I weird? Still missing them now?"

"No. No, of course not," he reassured softly, "I miss them as well, every day. People like your parents can't be forgotten."

"You knew my dad well, didn't you? And my mum too?" Wes, laying his new photos delicately down on the table in front of them, now turned to the adult inquisitively, determined to make the most of this time, "From work?"

"Yes. I was their boss." Harry confirmed, inwardly noting yet another trait shared between father and son – inner strength and will, "They were both wonderful people, Wes; parents to be proud of. And they were so proud of you, too."

"Mrs Scott always says that. That if my parents were watching me now, they'd be proud. Do you believe in all that, though? I want to - I really do. I pray to them every night. But...but is it real?"

"I don't know," he took his time to reply, careful not to hurt Wes, "No one knows. It's up to you to make your own mind up. But I'll tell you one thing. Faith helps you to stay strong throughout the hard times, to remain hopeful for the good moments. Life's so much easier when you believe."

They sat in companiable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Harry wondered how much he could learn from this child. Wes imagined his father holding his hand, his mother whispering in his ear.

"Wes, I've got so much to share. I'm married now, to a wonderful woman who knew your parents too, and equally has many, many stories to tell. You deserve to know the truth – your parents would want that much."

Wes's eyes brightened as Harry spoke, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. He knew his parents hadn't abandoned him – not really. It hadn't been their fault. But that hadn't consoled him at all when he'd woken in the night screaming, or sat alone at the breakfast table whilst his peers gleefully opened parcels from home. Was Harry offering him exactly what he'd been praying for all these years – a real insight into his parents' lives? The real truth?

"I know...I know it's too little, too late. I know you've suffered intolerably. But...but maybe it would ease the pain slightly, to hear about your parents, and the reality of their lives." Harry squeezed the boy's hand supportively, understanding he needed time to mull the concept over now, "Look, I'll leave you alone now; your teacher tells me you've got lots of studying to be getting on with. Ruth and I are staying in a hotel in the area; we decided to have a break. If you want to talk, you know where I am."

Harry pressed a scrap of paper into the boy's hand, gave him a meaningful glance and strolled away, leaving Wes alone with a pile of photographs and a phone number to contemplate what the hell was going on.

XxXxX

**Thanks for reading – please review ;') xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews for chapter one. I know it's tragic, but I think your feedback is quite possibly the highlight of my day at the moment :')**

"Anyone would think you hadn't eaten in weeks!" Harry chuckled, watching Wes in amazement as he scoffed down his third helping of ice cream after already making his way through a sizeable starter and main course too.

Thank God they'd decided against _The Ritz_ and taken the child's advice on this _Pizza Hut _place. True, the food was a little too junk-like for Harry's liking, but the salad bar was handy, and he had to admit he'd rather enjoyed his onion rings.

"Oh, let him be. He's a growing lad," Ruth reprimanded gently, finishing off the remains of a strawberry sundae, "He deserves a treat once in a while."

"Indeed."

"It's very kind of you, Uncle Harry. And...and Ruth."

"You're welcome," Ruth smiled delicately. The boy reminded her so much of Adam; it was difficult to look him in the eye without remembering his father. But he also brought back so many memories of her time in Cyprus – Nico would be around the same age as Wes now. In a different world, she was sure they'd have made great friends.

"So," Harry gathered up the plates and piled them in the middle of the table, mopping at the corners of his mouth and turning to Wes, "How about we take a stroll in the park?"

Wes had already enjoyed several hours of stories about his parents, but both Harry and Ruth had avoided discussing the actual purpose of these missions, and the details of their jobs. One could never be too careful, even in a tacky restaurant overflowing with excitable kids. The park would provide a little cover for the true revelations.

Harry paid for the meal efficiently as Ruth and Wes turned to converse about something or other. He tipped the staff healthily, too; he still recalled the trying times in junior years when he'd been paid so badly, and empathised with the society here.

Wes, for a teenager, was incredibly child-like; chattering away to Ruth as if she were a long lost aunt, and pretty much begging Harry to buy a loaf of bread to feed the ducklings when they reached the park. He'd missed out on his childhood, really, though; however hard his parents had tried, his life was never going to be normal. All the normal family experiences had passed him by – it was really rather tragic.

"What subjects do you like at school, then, Wes?" Ruth questioned as they approached the park, resisting the urge to wrap her arm around the boy. He wouldn't have minded, she was sure. But something held her back. He wasn't her son; she barely knew him. She hoped that would come. But for now she needed to go easy on him.

"They're all okay, really. I like history, and geography. And French; my teacher says I should do it at GCSE." Wes shrugged, oblivious to the knowing glance exchanged between Harry and Ruth. This child, unwittingly, was an absolutely ideal candidate for MI5. It remained to be seen how he'd take that suggestion. "PE is the best, though; I still love rugby, and football's good too."

"Sport was my worst nightmare at school," she chuckled, taking Harry's hand as they wandered across the lush grass towards the water, Wes scrambling in front brandishing bread.

It had taken them a long while to admit their feelings for each other; the problem with spies was that they fell into the habit of lying to themselves as well as everyone else. Both shared the love of literature, and had regularly quoted famous writers in their first few years of working together. Now, they used that as a form of fond banter as opposed to tension. Where there was a will, there was generally a way.

"Do you think he'll be okay with it, then? It's a big revelation; he's only just begun to talk about his parents, and now we're going to tell him about the secrets kept from the world? Are you sure he's ready?"

"You worry so, Ruth," Harry sighed, squeezing her hand tenderly, "I know you just want to protect him, but he's been protected for far too long now – it isn't doing any good shielding him from the truth when the lies are worse. His parents would want him to know."

"Yes, I suppose." they followed him across to the water's edge. He was down on his knees, reaching down with handfuls of bread and dropping it neatly in front of the ducks. He was gentle with them, though, moving slowly so as not to frighten them, and making sure every creature got a helping.

Fiona's influence, Ruth supposed – Wes's mother may sometimes have been steely or aloof, but deep down she was a wonderful person; calm and collected, yet warm and considerate. She fitted perfectly together with Adam's traits and emotions – they complimented each other so well, and so supportively. Wes was a perfect mixture of the two, with a little individuality thrown in.

Harry glanced around subconsciously; the park was mercifully quiet, "I'm not sure anyone's been entirely honest with you. There are certain things children shouldn't be subjected to. But I...we...feel that you're ready for the truth now. That it'll help you to understand your life better."

Wes didn't reply, continuing to feed the ducks. He was so used to guarding his emotions now, he wasn't sure who he really was any more. For a moment, he'd felt he could truly trust these people; as if he could be himself around them. But now...now he wasn't so sure. What were they gearing up to reveal? Did he really want to know?

"Wes...Wes, have you heard of an organisation called MI5? The security services?" Harry continued at the lack of response, speaking slowly and clearly, "Your mum and dad worked for them. For me."

"Like...like James Bond? Like spies? With guns, and drugs, and murder? Lying all their lives?" Harry provoked a reaction this time, definitely, but not of the kind he'd wished for. Wes threw the rest of the bread to the birds and spun around, eyeing Ruth now. She had the kind of eyes you could trust. "They didn't die like I was told, then? They were murdered? And I just was thrown away?"

"No, Wes. It was never like that. Both your parents were incredibly heroic in th..."

"They were spies?"

"Yes, they were spies, but..."

"I thought they were nice people! I thought they loved me!" Wes yelled suddenly, jumping up and throwing the bread packet at Harry angrily, "When all they ever did is lie and kill and lie some more and...and leave me!"

"Wes!" Harry pleaded, his eyes wide in horror as the boy hurried away from them, throwing tearful glances back over his shoulder. Ruth stood too, moving as if to follow him, but Harry grabbed her sleeve. "No, Ruth. Let him go now. He needs time to think; he'll come round."

"He's thirteen, Harry – he can't be left alone to run around the streets of London! What would his father say now? I told you it was too early; I told you! How would you take it if your entire life was suddenly tipped upside down?"

"Ruth, it's not going to help anyone if y..."

"Well done, Harry. Another great job," she flounced away, her coat flying out behind her as she set off after Wes.

Harry sank down onto the bench beside him, his heart sinking. Why was it that, when he set out to do good – to compensate his mistakes - he did even more harm?

XxXxX


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the reviews. Perhaps a slightly more angsty chapter this time, more focused around how Wes's appearance in her life affects Ruth, and reflecting on her memories of George and Nico. I'll aim for Spooks fluffiness next chapter ;)**

"Wes! Wes, wait!" Ruth called after him desperately, stumbling in the long grass as the boy hurried through the field away from her, "Please!"

He stopped still in the greenery, listening to the tone of her voice. She was desperate. She was scared for _him_, not just for the trouble she'd be in if he was lost. And that made her deserving of at least listening to.

She caught up with him before he could change his mind, her breathing hoarse and irregular, and her eyes wide with fear.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, concerned as she raised a hand to her forehead, "Does your head hurt?"

"I'm fine. Thank you," she sounded slightly guarded now, "Look, Harry didn't mean to upset you; he was only trying to do what was right."

"It's true, then? They were spies?"

"Yes, they were spies. But not in the way you might think," she appeared to be regaining her strength now, glancing around her for any signs of danger. They were, after all, conversing in the centre of a farmer's field – surely he wouldn't be best pleased if he realised a chase had taken place through his best crops. "I'm a spy, Harry's a spy...all of MI5 are spies in some form or other. There are spies in every country in the world, and no, they're not always good people. But we are. And your parents were."

"They didn't kill?"

Ruth grimaced, "To say they were good doesn't mean they were perfect. In our line of job, you can't possibly be perfect. Sometimes, bad things have to happen for the greater good. Have you heard the phrase 'the end justifies the means' before?"

"Sort of."

"Well, for example...if I killed a terrorist, it's murder, yes? But if I killed that terrorist to stop him from killing hundreds of other people, my crime is sort of worthwhile. Obviously, it's never right to murder, but some crimes can be committed with good in mind. MI5 are here to protect this country; 'regnum defende' is their motto - defend the realm. And that's what your parents did, and what I try to do now. Your father once told me; your mother's last words as she died were 'keep Wes safe'. They always loved you; so, so much. They died heroes; they died to save others, but you were always the most important thing in their lives."

"My dad was with my mum? When...when she died?" Wes murmured faintly, gazing up at Ruth as he digested her words.

"Yes."

"She wasn't it pain for long?"

"No; she died quickly. So did your fa...so did your dad."

He nodded. Ruth couldn't help herself this time; his expression broke her heart. So much like his father; a fighter, yet with more passion and sentimentality underneath... She held out her arms, and they hugged, clinging together in the middle of the field as the sun beat down on their backs.

"Come on, then," she released him eventually, straightening her coat and indicating down the path of trampled grass, "We'd better get you back to school."

"Do I have to?" he suddenly appeared pleading, "Can't we go to the park or something? I want...I want to know more about my parents. And their job. And I think I should say sorry to Harry."

Ruth smiled, "Okay, then."

XxXxX

"Tariq," Harry demanded into his phone as Ruth and Wes reached him again. He shuffled along to make room for them on the bench, but made no attempt to speak to either Ruth or her companion; he was evidently engrossed in listening.

"Harry?"

He just shook his head, appearing both frustrated and uncertain, "Well, there's not a lot I can do from here, believe it or not. I'm on holiday – the first I've had for...for years – and you all know it. I was assured you could manage. Where's Dimitri?"

"Harry, what's going on?"

He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to Ruth, eyeing her warily. She no longer seemed angry. Just reserved, and questioning. "Nothing to do with us now. Just Tariq freaking out – Dimitri's taken a tea break and something's come up. Don't worry."

"The last time you said that..."

"Wes," Harry addressed the boy now.

"I'm sorry, for running off. I know you were only trying to help," Wes apologised boldly, seeking courage from Ruth's presence, "I thought I'd have to forget my parents. And now you've come, with all this, and I do want to know...but it's hard."

"Yes. For what it's worth, I'm sorry too."

"I think..." Ruth began, but her phone cut her off, and she flushed and dug around in her coat for it. Seeing the caller illuminated on the screen, she shook her head. "Sorry, I'm going to have to..."

"Of course."

She stood up, took a couple of steps away from them. Harry could see her lips moving in the shade of the oak tree she leant against, but he couldn't understand what she was saying. He'd always wished he could lip-read as a child; it would have been useful when his teachers were whispering about him at the back of the classroom. Another thing to add to his regrets list, then.

"Have you ever killed someone, Uncle Harry?"

He blinked at the question, the forthright nature to Wes's tone, the desperation for an answer, "Wes..."

"Have you?"

"Yes."

It was Wes's turn to look surprised. Maybe he'd been hoping for a different answer, or maybe he'd just thought that Harry would deny it, refuse to discuss such a thing. "How... when? How many?"

"Too many," he sighed.

Wes didn't say anything.

"I was in the army when I was younger. It's just... it's just a fact of life, Wes. You have to defend your country – you have to do what's right, even if it feels wrong. You know, the MI5 motto is _regnum defende_ – it means..."

"Defend the realm," Wes nodded, "Ruth told me."

"Yes. You like Ruth, don't you?"

The boy was silent again, but his eyes fell on the woman under the tree. She raised a hand to her head, smoothed her hair across her forehead. She seemed agitated.

Harry was thinking about the first child he'd killed. Chasing a man through the streets of London, seeing the glint of a gun in his hand, seeing the blood. Throwing himself over walls, pushing bins out of the way. There'd been people everywhere screaming, people frozen in the man's crazed glare. He had dived behind a building, and when he'd come out again, Harry had shot him down.

Only it hadn't been the man. It had been an overgrown teenage boy wearing a similar baggy blue hoodie. A child with tangled blonde hair that flopped listlessly over his eyes, a child with blood trickling out of his mouth.

"Harry?"

"Yes," he stood.

"Dimitri's back – he's... he says they can deal with it, that everything will be fine. Tariq's sorry if he caused you any inconvience."

Harry's expression softened, "He didn't."

"He didn't seem to see it like that."

"I..."

"I do think we ought to be getting you back to school now, Wes," she said, pocketing her phone, looking pointedly away from Harry and towards Adam's son, "We wouldn't want your housemistress to be worrying, would we? Mrs Scott, isn't it?"

"But Ruth..."

She smiled. Tears suddenly stung her eyelids: he sounded so similar to Nico it hurt. _But Ruth_, he'd moaned, when she told him to eat his greens, when she said he had to go to bed. _But Ruth_, he'd cried, when she'd tried to explain to him why an ocean would now separate them, why they'd never see each other again. His tears, corroding her heart.

"Ruth, are you okay?" Harry reached out and touched her arm.

That boy had been her child. She'd loved it out there, lying in the pool with George's arm around her, drinking wine and eating fish. Nothing had mattered, somehow; everything had been okay. _So simple_, she'd told Harry; it had been so calm and free and wonderful. She'd felt truly alive.

She though about how devastated Adam had been when Fiona had died. She hadn't been there when he'd died – she'd missed so much – but they all said he'd never been the same again. And maybe that was right.

Whereas when George had died, she'd cried for a while, screamed at Harry, and then got over it and left the country. Left that poor boy all alone to fend for himself, when it was her fault his father had been killed. And married Harry. Did she even think about that life any more?

"Ruth?"

She sat down, "I'm fine."

_This job that we do; it's a machine. It takes you in, it chews you up. It spits you out. _That was what being a spy did to you. Made you dead inside.

XxXxX


End file.
